


Mycroft's Resolution

by Wetislandinthenorthatlantic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mollcroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 20:44:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3088643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic/pseuds/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I own nothing. This work is purely for entertainment.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Mycroft's Resolution

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. This work is purely for entertainment.

Mycroft Holmes wasn't really the New Year's Resolutions type. He prided himself on his iron willpower. Once he decided to do something, it could --96.7% of the time - be considered a fait accompli. 

The Resolution, if it could be called that, had happened at 10:57p, 31 December 2014. Mycroft had been in his Study just about to turn in for the night. (It had been well over a decade since he had stayed up on purpose to usher in a New Year.) 

As he watched the slightly grainy blue-grey image of Molly moving around her flat getting ready to go out to ring-in the New Year Mycroft swallowed hard, and closed his eyes. 

He must stop this. All of these fantasies about Miss Hooper were beginning to consume him. Mycroft liked to pretend when he watched her that Molly was getting ready to meet him ... Of course something would happen either on her end or his and they would pass like two ships in the night ... 

It was now too much. It must end

Sighing Mycroft let his finger gently stroke the image of Molly while he said one last "Goodbye" turned off the screen and went to bed. 

It was over.  

When he woke at 6:37a, 1 January 2015 Mycroft felt fantastic --like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was a free man now that the Miss Hooper was no longer weighing him down and he was very much looking forward to a significantly more productive and focused 2015. 

By 8:45a Mycroft, who on a normal day would have already logged into Molly's camera set twice by now, was bored and slight agitated. In desperation he started on the newspaper crossword while sitting in front of the telly in the kitchen. 

At 11:16a, just after the morning Bond film had started (the crossword completed in pen over an hour ago) Mycroft felt like a bucket of cold water had been poured over him as icy cold fear spread through his body. 

What if something had happened to Molly last night and she needed help?

What if his not checking on her was actually harming her?

For a moment the rational side of Mycroft's brain took over and added: What if she found someone last night and brought him home --we don't want to see that. It would kill us. 

But then we could kill him. We would like that. Came the quick irrational response. 

As he paced back and forth in his kitchen, bare feet and robe open over his blue pyjamas, Mycroft pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes trying to make the voices in his head stop. 

He would not look at the cameras. He would not check to see if there was anyone in her bed to kill. 

She was an adult who could take care of herself and he was a grown man who spent far too much time letting his mind wonder. 

As he slumped on his kitchen island in front of the telly, visions of Molly: lying injured in a filthy alley; under some nice-but-boring bloke in her warm bed; unconscious in a hospital ward;on top of the boring-bloke in her bed, were making it virtually impossible for Mycroft to follow the storyline of Goldfinger. 

When the image appeared in his mind of boring-but-evil-bloke tying Molly to her bed and threatening to cut her in two with his laser --that was enough for Mycroft. 

Forget the cameras --Molly needed him --NOW. 

Thirteen minutes later Mycroft was standing outside Molly flat desperately trying to catch is breath before barging in to save her from boring-but-evil bloke. 

Mycroft casually knocked on the door, not expecting it to open but preparing to shoulder it open. 

//

"Who in the world could that be?" Molly wondered as she got up off the couch. 

Opening her front door she found Mycroft Holmes dressed only in his robe and pyjamas. He didn't have any shoes on and was out of breath.  "Oh my goodness --Mycroft? What are you doing here?"

The plan had been: shoulder open the door, burst into the bedroom, wrestle the controls for the laser away from boring-but-evil bloke, short but effective hand-to-hand combat eventually knocking boring-but-evil bloke out, untie Molly -without looking at her to retain her modesty, receive a hug and small kiss on the cheek from Molly as thanks for saving her and if he was very lucky she would allow him to wrap her in a blanket and put his arm protectively around her until Lestrade and his men arrived on the scene. 

Finding Molly standing in front of him in an oversize sweatshirt and leggings with her hair in a sloppy bun on top of her head had caused all rational thoughts to escape from his head. "I am not sure," was all he could whisper with such a dry mouth. 

Pulling him into her flat Molly was assessing Mycroft instantly. He didn't smell of alcohol and despite the family history he didn't seem one to use drugs. 

She pushed him into the sofa and put the blanket she had been using over him, taking extra care to make sure his feet were covered. "Watch Goldfinger while I make you a cup of tea and figure out what has happened to you. You don't have any shoes on!" 

Mycroft had only seen Molly in person twice both times in the morgue and with Sherlock present. As good as it felt to be covered by her still warm blanket Mycroft was more than a little disappointed that his favourite damsel wasn't in any distress.

Moments later Molly came back into the living room with a huge steaming mug of tea which she set on the coffee table. Sitting on the edge of the couch Molly looked down at Mycroft with a small smile. 

"I'm glad you stopped watching me on your cameras and finally came over. I had just about given up on you."

Mycroft, without saying a word, simply held open the blanket for Molly who lay down and snuggled into him as he wrapped his arm protectively around her. 

From then on when asked each would reply that Goldfinger was their favourite Bond movie. 

And as for Mycroft's resolution ... his percentage success rate remains intact. Mycroft never did go back to using his cameras to watch Molly -- he didn't need to. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Sorry for all the mistakes. I wrote this when I should have been sleeping. Perhaps it will get a tidy up when I wake up! Happy New Year everyone! Enjoy!


End file.
